


Death By Dreaming

by RogueDruid (Icarius51)



Category: Persona 3, Persona 4, Persona 5, Persona Series, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Persona Fusion, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Broken Promises, Even f that means you kick their ass, F/F, F/M, Fate Worse Than Death, Fuck God, Gen, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Making the world better by making people better., Metaverse (Persona 5), Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, Quirkless Midoriya Izuku, Self Confidence Issues, Shounen style, Teenage Rebellion, The Author Regrets Nothing, We Make our Own Fate, What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2019-10-29 06:31:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarius51/pseuds/RogueDruid
Summary: Midoriya Izuku was Suppose to die.Fuck That.(The world is infected, burn out the virus bit by bit, or Die Trying.)





	1. Prologue: Fated to Die

**** Izuku Midoriya is Supposed to Die.

 

Not physically. Not through splatters of blood and pain and darkness. Not from cell death and the slow loss of the sparks that signifies life.

 

No, that would be a waste; a waste of one more mindless drone, one more cog in the machine...

 

Izuku is supposed to suffer the death of the mind. 

The death of his Dream.    
  


The death of What Could Be and what Might Have Been. 

 

Midoriya Izuku’s soul is supposed to die.

 

The first point it should have died is at the age of four. When those words hit him.

 

_ "You are quirkless." _

 

_ "You should abandon your dream." _

 

_ “Izuku... I'm So Sorry." _

 

It doesn't. 

 

It injures him, of course. But somehow Izuku survives it. His driving force shudders falters and hesitates, but he holds on with a desperate grip and pulls it together with nothing but hope and a smile, hiding the cracks as best he can as he holds his dream ever tighter. His mind is strong and his heart determined, despite how much it hurts.

 

This will not do. The dream he holds is unnecessary to the machinations of the world. Actions must be taken.

 

So Bakugou becomes a bully instead of a friend. Dreams and thoughts and subtle schemes push his pride to the forefront. Puts the image of Izuku, his once friend standing above him with a hand reaching down to help him up, into his mind. Makes him despise the shame of failure and pushes that shame into burning hate. He gives too easily, blinded by hair-trigger emotions and subtle twists in his dreams.

 

Izuku stands against the storm of explosions and cutting words. Once more he is injured instead of killed. Bakugou continues, but Izuku grows used to the treatment, the cracking slows and regresses, replaced by scarred emotions and memories that don’t burn or break as easily.

 

And the world gets annoyed.  _ “You are not supposed to live, _ ” it whispers into his dreams. _ “You should accept the death of the self. Death of your dream. _ "

 

Izuku remembers it only as emotion.

 

As apathy and sorrow and grief.

 

And he hates it. Hates it and shoves back. For every dream haunting him, another wave of hate and rage and “I WILL” pushes them back. Izuku sheds his hate like armor, letting it fracture and break with each blow, lets it chip under the assault to spare the rest. He does not wield hate as a weapon.  _ (not like Kacchan. Never like Kacchan.) _

 

The world snarls. If the death of the mind won't take, the death of the body will have to do.

 

“Take a swan dive off the roof," comes the taunt, bitter and spiteful, a chain of words that Bakugou doesn't process, merely speaks, words that flow not from  _ his _ soul, but that of the world. He’s not in full control, after all. His dream is already approved and encouraged by the schemer, and the roots of machination have infested his spirit. 

 

Izuku ignores the suggestion.

 

"A meat suit just my size," comes the next attempt; the slime was too easy to push in its panic, directing it to find the troublesome soul.

 

Izuku survives, the taste of slime in his throat and lungs, and pain in his chest, but he survives. All Might, one of the few that cannot be truly directed, saves the problematic soul. Because he had a dream that pushes the boundaries, despite the power he holds.

 

Finally, after seeing All Might leave without him, Izuku heads home. The barest victory of the world of the demiurge of the age of quirks working to break a once fated meeting. Keeping a dream just that much farther, to break a legacy that it can not control.

 

The World grows  _ annoyed.  _

 

_ Frustrated. _

 

It deals with millions of dreams, spreads its roots and fingers across the hearts and minds of any who hold its gifts. And beyond, to those who have conceded to its control.

 

But something about this single young man makes it twitch. So it decides to deal with it…    
  
**_Personally._ **

 

* * *

 

Izuku falls asleep the night after the slime incident. He is tired, stressed and overjoyed and oh, so tired. But as his eyes drift closed, the room of hero memorabilia fading, he doesn’t find rest.

 

He finds madness.

 

Before him lies an endless sea of twisting ice and fire and stone. Crystal towers and gears grow from the sea and slowly clank and shift, water crashing and shifting as waves push out from each wave, turning a calm sea into a churning chaotic mass. Izuku blinks and steps back, eyes darting away as he glances around. His feet, covered in his familiar red shoes, stand on a narrow cliff of black lifeless stone, a tower that stands only a dozen meters above the shifting water below.

 

He turns, looking around, trying to find why and where he was before the sea begins to swirl and churn in an intricate pattern. As it twists faster, the center of the whirlpool begins to rise, a shape forming from its depths and carrying water up. The spray is sharp and icy against Izuku’s face, forcing him to raise his arms and brace himself.

 

As the water stops its approach, Izuku slowly lowers his soaking wet arms and blinks in awe and fear.

 

Something wreathed in shadow appears from the sea. And it turns its gaze, one red eye and one blue eye, onto him.

 

Suddenly, the sky feels like the ocean. Air like tonnes of stone. He cannot breathe, his knees buckle and he crashes down, shoulders arching and bending under the weight. He cannot see. All he knows is pressure. And within him, something is twisting under the pressure.   
  
"Foolish child. Give in. Rejoice in your surrender."   
  
The voice calls from the presence touched by rage and desire and hate.   
  
And that's enough.

 

Too Much. Too much weight, and focus, and pressure. Izuku’s anger is blown away from where it silently sits as armor, and the core of him, his dreams and desires and loves, are exposed.

  
Izuku breaks. But not as the world—no, as the  _ being _ —wants. Not the way that would make him settle and stagnate. No, this break makes him sharp. Long repressed rebellion, fragments of dark consideration and self-hatred, pieces of long-held truths. All are raised as sparks of anger run and adhear to them sharpening them from mere pieces of self into weapons to be wielded.   
  
Izuku slams his hands down, stopping his descent under the pressure, even as a twitch, a feeling like a deep belly laugh begins to build, and makes his lips curve into a  _ smile.  _ He can feel it now, something in him is awakening, a song sung in counterpoint, the gap between heartbeats. The thrum of focused rage, of spite and anger and a desire. Not for revenge. But vindication. Not destruction. But justice.   
  
Izuku Midoriya speaks back. Blood dripping from his mouth as he realizes he has a blood-stained lip and that the force made him bite his tongue.  Pain and that pent up laugh making his form shake.   
  
"You can go  _ Fuck _ yourself." the words are familiar, but not to him. It was something learned from his friend-turned-enemy, but he learns from everything, doesn’t he?   
  
Izuku stares up. Head pulsing and lips twitching even as he begins to shake, straining to look at that _ untouchable presence _ .    
  
It looks less than it once was.

  
Beneath him, the black stone he stands upon twitches and shifts. Cracks of vibrant green and red and blue racing from Izuku’s feet. The black shell of rock reveals crystal lit from within, and he feels as if, despite the weight now on him, he’s lost a chain holding him back.   
  
"I don't care... if you want me to give up. You can go to hell." The eyes are bloodshot, the smile blood red and tense as the pressure redoubles.   
  
"I an Izuku Midoriya. I WILL BE A HERO. And nothing will stop me. Not you. Not Kacchan. Not fate or destiny or the world itself." Izuku drags his legs up and out. Stomping down and tightening his stance, as he slowly pushes to his feet, feeling that weight across his back.   
  
"So bring it on. And let me show you..."   
  
Green eyes crackle with potential. the stone shivers and light rush forth.

  
" **...** **_that I am Here_ ** ." 

 

The black stone completely vanishes like dust in a windstorm, leaving only a crystal spire that shifts, bladed shards rising up like snow in reverse, the weight vanishing as Izuku stands on the thinnest of the remaining spires, arms raised in challenge.

 

And the last of the crystals shatter into a storm of chromatic shards that reflect light and power.    
  
Smiling, Izuku leans back, letting the cloud part as he begins to fall back into the ocean. Beneath him, the water seems to part into a deep, black abyss, and shards of crystal spiral down to adhere across his skin and the school uniform he stood in. At this, the being that he can’t comprehend screams in rage, reaching out…

 

_ -crystals twist and pull- _

 

...only to miss him by millimetres.   
  
And as the darkness envelops him, Izuku can only laugh.


	2. Wake up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cycle begins anew... 
> 
> the Velvet Room seeks a new resident.

Izuku’s fall in the darkness slows, leaving him floating as the black void enshrouds him. He feels… tired. Stretched thin and torn, but all the stronger for it. The crystal across him is warm, compared to the sharp feeling of ice on the skin from the water before. 

 

As his laughter fades, he blinks, seeing a color that's not from him.

 

A butterfly, crippled and with a torn wing that struggles around him.

 

_ What a surprise. _

 

_ A fool… who has only just found his path... _

 

_ Who did not step… so much as kick out.  _

 

_ A chain held your heart… and you have made it into armor. _

 

_ Curious…  _

 

Izuku is focused now. The voice he hears is… sickly. Wounded. Each word is spoken as if in pain and torment.

 

_ I suppose… that we do need some spirit… _

 

_ Which you hold in- in spades… _

 

_ Sadly… I don’t think I’ll see it myself… _

 

_ Follow the broken butterfly…  _

 

_ And, if all my last attempts went well… you will be welcomed… _

 

**_In the Velvet Room._ **

_   
_ The butterfly flapped half-heartedly, before coming closer. Reaching out, Izuku left his hand open, fingers raised, and the butterfly came to rest across his knuckles.

  
With a flash of light, it shattered, the remnants floating down across his hand and arm, lost among the gleam of crystal.   
  
Slowly, he began to feel… a familiar, yet strange feeling. The world around him blurring, the black and glow of crystal fading, and shifting…

 

* * *

 

He cannot parse the memory of the figure. It's a blur, a complex unending shifting void. But he can not ignore the ache and burn of his muscles and mind as he remembers his stand against it. Cannot push past it and decipher its existence. But he knows, has learned and understands three things.  
  
The first is easy. There is a force, a sentient, powerful being, that is pushing at the world, and it is not one that wants the best for humanity. In fact, if what he can gather coherently is right, it barely considered people, real living souls, as more than ants in his colony. It sees reality, _his_ reality as mere cogs and machines to achieve the goal.

 

A goal that Izuku does not understand.   
  
The second is harder to grasp. A series of rules and pathways. An understanding that, behind his reality, behind the constructs of atoms and cells, molecules and flesh and stone and blood... Behind them, all of them, is a counterpart. Formed of shadows cast by thought and mind. It's not the realm where the presence lay. But rather where he had stood in relation to a bigger picture. He knows this because he had stood on it. On the point where his shadow, the black stone-lined cliff face, had reached. The cracking was the barrier between his reality and its shadow, and with it shattered... there are now cracks he can walk through. He knows though, in some deep firm part of his mind, that merely wandering into that place is not possible, that going that deep, to where the being rests, is *suicide*.   
  
The third is the most difficult to grasp. It's the message from the butterfly. A warning and a plea and a siren’s call. Words not spoken, but clear nonetheless.   
  
"We have failed. Please. Win where we could not."   
  
It comes with a gift. Or perhaps a curse. A litany of thoughts and drives. Of half-bred instinct and focused desire. It speaks to him. And he knows he has changed, that fundamentally something other has grown, _ is _ growing. Will set in his soul that the cracks he made in rage and fear and hate will be filled like a Damascus. He will and always will be Izuku Midoriya. But who that is shall grow like a spider’s web.   
  
It’s strange to know that.   
  
What even stranger is that he knows he has  _ time. _ It’s like watching the sky darken to the deepest parts of the night before the sun rises… a strange sense of  _ distance _ that he knows points towards that goal he can’t see. It says that he has time, that he has room and space to grow.

 

He also knows that now that his shadow, that black spire, has shattered, the entity can’t pull him there again. If he wants to reach it, he has to grow. To learn and experience and hunt down leads…

 

But where to start?

 

As if in answer, his room is suddenly lit by a flare of deep velvet blue, a wounded butterfly appearing over his arm, wings seeming to flare up from his wrist as it took off, flapping around him once, then twice. Its form flickered back and forth around the room, before coming to rest on the window.

 

“Do… Do I follow you?”   
  


A single flap of blue wings.

 

“...” glancing out at the still dark streets, Izuku nods firmly and rolls out of bed.

 

He was never one to give up or not help others in need.

 

He isn’t going to start now.

 

He changed his clothes, and walked to the door, cracking it open, and then slowly creeping out. Eyes glancing out and at the door to his mom's room. Hesitating, he turned and creeped out of the apartment, the blue butterfly landing softly on the railing nearby. Breathing deep, he stepped forward and followed the velvety wings of the butterfly. down the street at a run.

* * *

 

Izuku panted as he stood at the sidewalk overlooking the junkyard that was Dagobah beach, resting while his legs ached and lungs burned. The jumbled thoughts and weird inclinations he had been feeling since he woke had begun to slowly sort themselves out as he ran, and began to order themselves by use. His mind was settling. Finally feeling like his lungs weren’t on fire anymore, he stood up straight, eyes drawn to the butterfly sitting on the railing, its wings slowly flapping as it called him further onwards.

 

Taking his first steps, the butterfly fluttered down the railing into the piles of trash, and with careful footsteps and a pounding heart, Izuku dived after.

 

The path, if it could be called that, was twisting and confusing. Under a flipped over car, around a towering pile of washing machines, through a rickety archway made by tires and microwaves. 

 

In the end, he reached the shore, the ocean waves lapping against rusting metal and trash as the butterfly came to perch on a ripped in half limo.

 

The drivers half was torn away, the roof over the back seat missing and glass shattered.

 

But where it rested- Izuku blinked, feeling a stinging pain in his eyes that made him hiss in pain. Between one second and the next, all the color in the world seemed to fade out, revealing a crack in the door panel of the limo that shined with a familiar blue light, and the butterfly flying around it.

 

Reaching forwards, Izuku slowly raised his hand, and reached out…

 

And the crack ripped open, sucking him in.

 

And Dagobah beach was lifeless once more, with the sole exception of a blue butterfly, that fluttered to a stop, and waited.   
  


  
  
  
  


****  
_A massive twisted tower, appearing at midnight and constantly shifting. Red armbands. Silver guns that feel so real..._   
  
  
  
_A small town, mirrored through static on a screen. Mysteries. Death. Truth..._   
  
  
  
_Red and black shadows. Castles and kingdoms of the corrupt and lost. Suffering in silence or rebelling... is there even a choice?_   
  


 

**_And now… a young man standing in the shadow of Heroes… while he fights a puppeteer who makes the world dance._ **   
  



	3. Blood on the Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dissonance draws you closer. Follow the Butterfly.

Izuku stumbled, eyes blinking at the strange distortion that had wreathed him. He could feel it, feel the layers of reality shift and shuffle piece by piece, moving him from reality… to this new layer. He could feel it. The blur of a world fueled by intent over static formula. But even as he got used to the strange transition, it peeled away.

His hand was resting on a shattered pillar of velvet blue, scarred with cracks and a scorch mark that had melted part of the stone to slag. His fingers slid over the still smooth parts of the marble, and a flicker of a memory, something not his, burst in his eyes.    
  
_ ‘Eyes filled with gears and apathy, a spear burning hot as it skidded past, the faint flicker of black feathered wings and burning blue, red and gold eyes were burning as Ar-’ _

 

Just as suddenly as it came, it shattered, memory lost to a gasping ragged breath as Izuku blinked to find himself on his hands and knees, fingers buried and clenching around white sand.

 

Around him, the once trash-ridden beach was replaced by a seaside of pale white sand leading down into glistening pale blue waves that glowed in eternal dawn. Ahead of him, where the trash formed a maze, instead of towering cliffs and sea stacks of twisted metal and stone, shaped like the crude playthings of bored sea god that stood forgotten by their maker.  

 

He stared into the half-light of the sandy maze ahead of him, feeling the faint chill of an ocean breeze drift past him…

 

And the flapping of blue wings as a butterfly took off from his shoulder.

 

A deep breath in and Izuku took off into the shadows.

 

The cool dark shadows were strange and twisting, the world seemed to shift if he wasn’t paying attention, side passages that were there one minute looked different the next, but ahead of him, the butterfly guided him, a glowing beacon in the half-light. But he could feel…. Something else lurking in the darkness. The butterfly would lead him in circuitous roots as if guiding him past dangerous paths.   
  
The further he went, the more the world around him changed. First, it was the sand shifting, giving way to loose gravel, and then to wide flat areas of smooth rock and slate that cracked or shifted underfoot, and then to smooth expanses of stone carved into the rock faces. Above him, the stone stacks and pillars were appearing shorter and shorter, and he realized he was climbing up past the maze of the beach.

 

And then the butterfly panicked, flapping and swirling in a frenzy as Izuku took a turn after it.

 

And he heard it.   
  
Large slow breaths, closer to snarls than breathing.

 

Pausing and slowly clenching his suddenly clammy hands, Izuku glanced back and his heart rate spiked.

 

Behind him was not that gentle slope of sand and stone and gravel… but a cliff that shot straight down, showing he was in a sea cave far above the sea, the faint shining light of a burning sun of gold and silver barely visible through the sea as it began to rise. He was also disbelieving of where he was at. He had spent what felt like over an hour, walking away from the sea, and now it was below him? And there was the ruined pillar!   
  
If not for the fact that it was  _ blocking his exit _ , he would have said it was a beautiful sight.

 

Instead, he was panicking.

 

The butterfly had apparently been considering what to do as well, as it flapped close, the broken wing brushing his cheek before it turned and took off.

 

Izuku followed, darting after the butterfly as it darted down a crack in the rock he was sure wasn’t there before the butterfly flew down it.   
  
He glanced back at the sound of running feet and loud angry barking, just in time to see a large wolf-like creature’s head stick in the gap, barking and growling as it scrabbled at the stonework, even as a second one joined it, both with golden fur around the face and blue-black manes ragged and matted.   
  
But the scary thing was that it was  _ bigger than him _ . Hell, Izuku maybe, if he hopped a bit, came up past its shoulder.    
  
As Izuku stood frozen, he could only stare, as the heads pulled back with snarls and revealed that it wasn’t two wolves… but one with two heads, its back matted with scales and fur.   
  
And then he saw sparks form in the maws of the heads as they reared back.   
  
Years of studying quirks rang out in warning, and Izuku bolted down the crevice after the distant fluttering blue.

 

It rang out, a snarled word that the mere sound of made the world shift and feel warmer.

“ _ Agilao.” _   
  
And the dark of the cavern was filled with light.    
  
Izuku lunged forward, arms coming up and over his head even as he pressed flat to the rough ground of the crevice.   
  


For a moment, the world was no longer dark and cold and tight.   
  
The world was nothing but  _ heat.  _ The fire swirled and lashed out over his prone form, the air cracking and burning even as the stone hissed and crackled under the heat. If he was any taller, if he had taken just a moment longer, he would have burned away in the heat, he could tell. As it was, he felt his skin redden and could feel his clothes crisp up from the heat. 

 

As quick as it came, it faded, and before Izuku’s mind could catch up, he was already up and running, the smoke around him swirling as he held his breath, feet pounding into the stone of the crevice as his eye searched for-

 

There!    
  
The butterfly, flickering and shifting around another crack, gleaming in the half-light of what looked like dawn.

 

He looked back to see the hound snarl and dart away from the entrance and grimaced.

  
‘ _ I hope that's the last I see of them!’ _

 

With a leap, he landed in the exit, scraping his arm as he passed through. The butterfly was flapping erratically as it led him around a cliff face and up a set of crude stairs. Perhaps he was wrong, but it almost felt like the butterfly was excited, that he was almost at the end of this hunt…   
  
He reached the top step, and before him, a velvet blue crack in reality, was floating, the world around it distorting as if light and matter were being sucked in.    
  
Izuku paused, and stared at it filled with trepidation…   
  
And that was his mistake.   
  
He heard it first, the rapid hoofbeats of a steed, hooves, and steel on wind and water etched into stone.   
  
He turned, panic filling his veins as he took in his attacker.   
  
Red plated armor…   
  
Merciless ruby red eyes gleaming from the shadows of a horned helm…

 

And a long gleaming silver lance, the point all but reaching Izuku’s chest…

 

And then he felt pain, his body lifted and carried, the cool metal of a spear through his heart.

  
‘ _ No…  _ __   
__   
_ I was…. _ __   
  


_ There….’ _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_“Hęh,͢ ͞ab̴o̡ut time y͢ou ͡w͢oke̕ up.̡..”_ **


	4. Burn Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood paid, Power bargained, Resolve and Will Refined.
> 
>  
> 
> **I AM THOU....**

As the world began to fade, time froze.

Izuku was frozen, body staggering back even as the spear held him up, shoving him off his feet.

**“̸Wh͡a̛҉t. ̛Ar҉̢e ̶̵y̷͟͝ou̡͘ ͘d҉o͜͝͞n͜҉̷e͞?̕ ҉A̵̸r̸͞e̢͞ ̢y̸͘͢o͝҉ư̷ ̡g̷̢ơn̸̡̧ņa͏̧҉ ̶s̢i̷͘t̴͢ ̷b͜͞a̴̵͠c̕͏k̕ ̴̛a͠n͢d͠ ͜Di̶e̕,̸ ̸k͏͟id?͞”**

_’I can’t move. I can barely stand. I can’t react fa-’_

**_“̴͢D̨̛on͞’̴̨t͏͟ ̵̵G҉̶̨i̵͘v̧e M̷͘e ҉E͘͏҉xc҉u͟s̸̷e͝s,͞ ҉k͜҉i͘͘͡d͘͢.̸͜ G͢͠i̡v͘e͠ ̢m̷͟e̶̢ ͟a͏҉ņ̧͢ ̧ą̧͟ns̶w̛e̛r.̷͠ A͟r̛͟e̡̢̨ ͝y̶o͡ų̶ ̶ģ͝o̴̢̕n̕n̸a g͏i̷͘v͜͏̡e͝͡ ̨̢u͘͟p̛͝ ͠a̵̡n̨̕d̷̛͠ ̛D̵i̵̛͟e̸͟?”̨̕҉_** The voice moved in, seeming to whisper in his ear. _**͟҉̢ ̡͜“͢Y̷̵ơ̛u’v̛͢e ͏s̴̕ư͜r͝v̵͢i̕v̶̸ed ̢͘t̸ḩ̷i̡s̵̛ ͠f҉ar,͟ ̵s͟t͜o͜o̵d̸̶ ̶s̨o͟ ͠͠l̷͘o҉ng҉…̧ ͞a͘͡r̢͡e̛ ̸̡҉y̷͘͟ou͘ ̕҉g̷͠ơ͠͏n҉̛͏n͘a̕ ̨g͜͠i͠ve̕͢ ̴i͞n҉?̡͘ ͢G͡i̢͢͜v̧̡ę͞ ̧͟u̡p̸?”̸̡**_

The words rang in his soul, reverberating and shimmering along his form as his blood, the red stain splashing the air around the spear, drifting down his chest, soaking his shirt…. began to glow and shimmer, looking like flames or plasma of the brightest blue.

_“No.”_

And like that, the voice strengthened, the static and chaos of it burning away to an aged and focused baritone.

**_“Then, call me by my name. Hear my title on your lips! Give voice to the Satire, to the Mockery. I am thou… and thou art I-”_ **

“-MOMUS. COME FORTH!”

The world kicked into gear, speeding back into real time. The blue energy surging forth and shoving Berith from his horse, leaving the spear hanging in Izuku's chest.

With a grimace, he reached up and grasped the shaft… and a second arm, covered in green rags and long and ink-stained reached from behind him and did the same. Both pulled it forth, and with a flicker of blue flame, the spear reshaped and changed in his grip. It shortened, from a rider’s lance to a footman's spear, the trident like top shifting into a flowing bladed triangle with a slight recurve along its edge, while part of the blade flowed and curved into a hooked point above the haft. Below the blade, four spires flowed out and hooked up around the shaft, while the rest was wrapped with white paper, no more like _parchment_ , covered with cramped and dense layers of writing, the words slanted and dripping as if written in manic rage and focus.

They were.

The spear fit his grip well, his hand shifting it so he held it at his side, the butt of the spear shifting to a long tassel that looked like a paintbrush… and with that he saw the design of the spear tip and laughed, filled with joy and manic energy at the realization.

His spear was the hybrid of an ink-pen and a calligraphy brush.

_**“Ah, a pen is mightier than a sword, isn’t it?”** _

The shifting and flowing of the air foretold the appearance of the figure leaning around his form, but where he might have once been frightened, he now felt only amusement and a feedback of focus from the figure.

Green ink-stained robes that hung loose around a thin but strong body, the skin beyond covered with sheaves of paper stained with ink, from finished works and rough drafts and flawed arguments. His right hand hung loose and unfilled, while the left held a long scepter with carved jesters across its surface. On the figure face, the left half was a grinning specter of glowing red eye and burning energy, almost a fractaling crystalain feature, as if it was a face carved from gemstones and engraved with emotion, while the other half was concealed under a tilted mask of gleaming gold, depicting an ageing and accusing face.

He was Momus, the greek god of critics and writer, tossed from Olympus for his satire against the gods, for commentary and criticism of those around him.

And he was Izuku’s _**Persona**_ … The word was lingering, new, but it echoed. He still felt the burn of the injury, and glanced down to see that where the spear had pierced his heart, he leaked blue plasma that played across his skin and up to his summon.

_**“Ah, yes. Sadly, I cannot stay forever… and to call me requires… sacrifice.”** _

Izuku suddenly understood. He summons his persona through blood and pain… And he would have to do it again and again.

For a split second, he hesitated, and than he felt the arm of Momus placed across his shoulders in a comforting gesture and he steeled himself.

And hesitation became action.

He glared up. While he had summoned and shifted the spear to suit himself, Berith had risen to its feet, a new spear forming in his grasp as the warhorse charged around the sparse stone and black grass of the cliff top to rejoin its rider.

“We take them in the midground,” Izuku began feeling histories and manuals of war flow through his thoughts, faster than he could understand, but with a spark of comprehension. He could feel the strength of his persona flow through him, gleaming velvet flames and lightning tracing his spears form. Over his shoulder, a long hand rose and gestured. “Where my spear is faster than his lance. Where the steed cannot turn.” Izuku leaned forward, the blue flames guiding him as much as his persona empowered him.

 _Berith,_ the wind whistled to him. _Demon rider, recorded among the Goetia._

Berith charged, lance held low and to the side as the demon roared with rage, leaning half out of his saddle to direct the thrust as the stallion rushed Izuku.

“ **We turn the air against our foes, _Garu.”_**

The sea breeze intensified into spears of swirling vapor and force, rushing past Izuku and his inner self to strike the ground and steed approaching.

A roar of rage was met with silence and a lunge of instinct and adrenaline.

A long golden spear struck dirt.

A gleaming pen shaped spear point filled with black blood for its ink.

Izuku shuddered under the force, but his grin only grew sharper. The stallion went crashing past him and off the side of the cliff even as the red armored figure was shoved back, impaled through the red armor of the chest up to the crossguard on the spear.

For a moment, Berith eyed Izuku, before its hand reached up and grasped the spear.

“ _You… Fight… Well…”_

 

 

And like that, the figure faded and melted away, its form changing to a dissipating inky black cloud with a shimmer like an oil spill spread throughout it.

But while most of the ink dissipated into the world around them, some of it raced up the shaft of the spear, flowing across the pages and across his skin. Around his right arm, panels of thin armor and red scales coated his simple green hoodie, and with its presence the sleeve shifted into loose flowing armor.

 _ **“Not Bad, kid… But enough of this bleeding.”**_ With a flare, the form of Momus formed plasma that flew around him and into his open wounds. A flare of sharp pain and the damage was gone, revealing unblemished skin, even as Izuku felt his muscles burn in exhaustion and felt as if he just been running for an hour.

He staggered, and caught himself, spear tip catching the ground as he leaned on it.

The Persona’s voice echoed softly through him.

_**“I am thou… and thou art I... Our contract sealed in a covenant of blood and war… We shall break the influence of unwanted lords, shall free the masses to question the system.”** _

“We so swear it.” The words felt right, pulsing through him even as the armor around his arm faded away.

_**“The Spirit of Velvet awaits us.”** _

Izuku followed the mental push and saw the butterfly dancing around a pair of worn stone pillars atop the highest point of the cliff face, velvet rags hanging and flowing from a crossbar as if marking a grave.

“Well. Let’s not keep the butterfly waiting.”

Resting the spear over his shoulder, Izuku embarked up the hill with new freedom and a newly refined confidence.


	5. Velvet Contracts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some answers are given. Leave with only more questions.

Izuku glanced around the archway that the Velvet Butterfly was flickering around, taking in the soft velvet satin of the ribbons on the crossbar. As he stared, and slowly walked around the pillars, the deep voice of Momus echoed through his thoughts, and the taste of paper and ink stuck to his tongue.

 

**_“Ahhh, a velvet gateway. Rare, very rare, especially these far lost days… The Velvet room normally crafts its own gateways for its guests… if it’s relying on old paths….”_ **

 

_ ‘Momus? Do you know about this?’ _ __   
_   
_ **_“Bah, only so much as your soul and my past does. My Manifestation may be potent, but as your persona I am somewhat limited. The Story and Truths of my myth prevail, but the new mysteries of this time are shrouded from me. Regardless, stride through yonder archway, and we shall find what remains of the Velvet Room.”_ **

 

A sense as if a hand left his shoulder, and the taste of ink faded away. Blinking slightly to clear his thoughts he took in the archway one last time. He breathed deeply, and tightened his grip on the spear over his shoulder.

 

“Onwards.”

 

With careful but steady steps, he walked through the archway…

 

And stepped from a stone and sea blasted cliff face, into a ballroom of velvet tones.

 

He glanced back to see the grand doors of a ballroom, easily 4 meters tall, and half that wide, was behind him, velvet stained glass embedded as windows in the top third. Turning away, he took in the ballroom with a careful gaze. The room was shaped like a long U, with the far wall curved, while the wall behind Izuku was flat.

 

Blue velvet furniture was scattered about with chaotic grace, resting against walls and in gathering circles in comfortable locations, accented with dark wooden tables and white accented plates and cups. The bright blue of the fabric seats were lined with maddeningly complex and intricate patterns. The flooring was a black so dark it seemed to absorb reflected light, while the walls were both pale white stone, surrounding more stained glass the same velvet blue as the butterfly, each with an intricately etched design. 

 

After a moment of consideration, he frowned. Was this more of a church than a ballroom? He would say a church. But the lack of pews and the seeming casual victorian style made him think this wasn’t a place of worship.

**_“Its not. An altar to a greater power, it may count as, but this was never a place of worship. No… this was a place of planning. Of machinations and guidance. This place was to support the people, not its god.”_ **

 

As Izuku stepped forwards, his eyes raised to the ceiling, and he stared at the gran arched designs that made him think of the roofs of such famed buildings as Notre Dame. He glanced around, and his eyes locked on the centerpiece resting in the middle of the far curve of the room. Where a podium or alter would sit in a church, there rested a battered and leaning desk, knocked forwards and its contents thrown across the floor. And, fluttering that way, was the gleaming butterfly.

 

Glancing around, Izuku strode across the dark floor, his red high tops loudly tapping on the surface as walked. As he got closer, the damage on the desks surface became clearer.

 

Scorch marks, large gashes, a section  where crystalline shards had been embedded in dark wood. And dark stains that looked like blood.

 

A quill and shattered Inkpot were to the side, next to where it would have stood, and white papers were scattered out and across the floor to the other side.

 

As he got closer, he noticed one piece of paper that was different. While most were blank flat pieces of paper, there was one that was rolled with a red ribbon and blue wax seal. 

 

And as luck would have it, it was also the piece of paper the butterfly came to rest on, wings slowly flapping as it waited.

 

**_“If I had money, I would bet you quite a bit this only is gonna leave us more questions than it answers.”_ **

 

_ ‘No bet. With how my morning and night has been, I fully expect to get some cryptic letter from god.’ _

 

To lay rest to his and Momus’s musing, Izuku lifted the scrolled paper, the butterfly flapping off and slowly circling before coming to rest among Izuku’s hair.    
  
Izuku glanced at the sealed ribbon, seeing a stylized butterfly design on the wax, before carefully popping the seal loose and unraveling the page. While the paper was clearly written in english, it was clear to his mind as any Kanji.

  
  
  


_ There has been a grave development in this world. _

 

_ A being, a god of mankind, has developed and grown in secrecy from the Velvet Room. Even as we were preoccupied with the dangers and threat of the being known as Yaldabaoth, which had infested Tokyo, a greater threat was brewing. Not in the realm of dreams and minds, but in core of reality.  _

 

_ The shores of the Sea of Souls have been connected to Mankind. _

 

_ Even now, strange powers and abilities have begun to surface, and while the Wildcards that still remain fight to uncover what has occured, I can tell. _

 

_ My time is running short. _

 

_ I am weakened from my time as Yaldabaoth’s prisoner. My master, Philemon, is preoccupied in distant realms. While the room remains intact, the connection between the Velvet Room and his ability to interfere with the waking world has been stretched thin.  _ __   
_   
_ __ As such, I have begun to lay plans in preparation for the worst.

 

_ This letter is one of them. _

 

_ If you are reading this, if it has appeared before you, then you’ve met the requirements. _

 

_ You are a wildcard with a heart that shattered your chains. _

 

_ Sadly, if I am not there to meet you and guide you, than all I can offer you is this contract. _

 

_ Bind yourself to the Velvet Room as its newest wildcard. Forge bonds, grow in power, strengthen yourself and others, and find a way to defeat the being that has wrought such chaos. The Velvet Room shall support and guide you the best it can. _

 

_ If you agree, if you grant us this contract in our dire time, than this paper shall count as your proof of contract. _

 

_ All you must do… is sign on the line below.. _

 

_ -Igor, Custodian of the Velvet room. _

  
  


_ X_________________ _

  
  
  


Izuku read back over the page twice, and glanced up, even as Momus spoke up.   
  
**_“Told you.”_ **

 

_ ‘Yeah… But even than you know what I’m going to do, right? What I want to be?’ _

 

_ “ _ **_A Hero… As a Greek, I can tell you the path you are about to embark on is likely to end in tragedy, yes?”_ ** ****_  
_ **_  
_ ** _ ‘As long as I can save as many as I can, help whoever I can, fight evil, and protect people… then I’ll walk that path.’ _

**_  
_ ** **_“Heh. Fair enough. Well then-”_ ** a blue glow stretched out, and the quill rose from the ground, tip suddenly wet with ink as it came to rest above the page. **_“Shall we sign?”_ **

 

A grin, nervous but determined, flashed across Izuku's face before he took the quill.

 

With a flourish, his name appeared on the page.

 

It glowed, a vibrant blue light shining out, before the paper rolled itself up and resealed itself.

 

Izuku held it and breathed deep, trying to focus and channel his determination to-

 

**“Wow, How old are you Kid?”**

 

The sound of a teenage voice behind him made Izuku jump and twist to watch, spear coming down. Resting level with the chest of the figure that had appeared behind him.

 

Curly black hair, thick rimmed glasses, yellowed eyes… and a black and red school uniform. Taking in Izuku’s surprised stance, the teen chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, before pulling his glasses off and bowing, the bridge of his nose barely touching the tip of the spear as those yellow irises met Izuku’s a sense of sarcastic glee glowing in their depths.

 

**“Ah, where are my manners. You can call me…** **_Arsene.”_ **


	6. Dance with a Dead Man

The newcomer paced slowly, deep golden eyes flashing behind thick glasses, and flared instincts leading Izuku into circling with him as he moved, slowly shifting towards the center of the chapel.

“You said your name was… Arsene?” 

The teen smirked. **“Arsene Lupin… I was the persona of the last Wildcard to contract the room.”**

Izuku stuttered in his step even as he clenched tighter on the spear in his hand. A Wildcard? Something about that… something about that rang through him. Momus’ touch on his mind clarified it. “Wildcards?”

Arsene shifted, a flare of blue preceding a stylish black and red cane that appeared in his grasp. A shift and it thudded against the tiles, rippling outwards in small rings of technicolor.

**“A Wildcard... is a counter to gods and tyrants. Someone whose innate sense of self and freedom can break the chains that bind them. The last one was my counterpart, the person who’s face I now wear. He slayed the entity that took the form of a Holy Grail, a false god named Yaldabaloth.”**

Izuku blinked. “Wait, killed a _god?_ ”

Arsene chuckled. **“It happens… a bit more than you would expect. I can tell you of at least two others who have defeated a ‘Divine’ opponent stronger than themselves, and I’ve heard rumors of more.”** With a shift the cane twisted, the handle sliding up from the shaft to reveal a gleaming red and black metal blade. **“Enough small talk, young man. If you wish to proceed, to learn all that I have to offer, then you must meet my blade with yours.”**

Izuku gulped and tensed, the long flowing shape of his spear shifting under suddenly clammy hands before he felt the rush of Momus, his persona, slowly teaching and moving his form to a better stance with which to handle the spear.

_‘My blade is more than a blade… it’s also a tool for creation, for art and magic. Let me guide you…’_

Izuku closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling the knowledge rise and flow across his thoughts.

As the Shade of Arsene raised his cane-sword in a fencing stance, Izuku spun the spear. With the inkbrush-like end, he swiped an arc on the floor, the black that flowed from the bristles forming a series of symbols burning with a green energy that slammed into and flowed back up and across him, filling his skin and bones with its presence.

“ _R **a**_ k _ **u** k_a _ **j** a.” _His voice seemed to echo and twist as he spoke, and he knew that he was only casting this with the direct assistance of his persona… he would need Momus to cast it until he was stronger.

Sadly, before he could really comprehend what his persona could do, the dark-haired teen seemed to lunge, sword thrusting towards him, preceding a smile and gleaming gold eyes that now burned blue. It was only by a frantic stumble and swing that he managed to get his spear up in time to knock the blade aside, only to feel the tip scrape past his shoulder and draw a line through his flesh.

“ **Good! Good! You trust your inner self! And it is more than willing to work with you… but now to see if you can fight!”**

Izuku saw the teen blur, half dissolved in fragments of red and bright blue flame, and felt the heat roll towards him in waves.

_Step, twist, slide, strike, spearpoint threatens, the shaft defends, the brush draws._

His first steps were clumsy. Hesitant. But when the blur of red formed into that cane sword, when his cheek bled and stung and the blade came around again-

He began to dance with Arsene.

**“Now you’ve got it kid! Come on, dance the bloody ballet!”**

He listened, letting the murmurs of thought flow across his sense of self, feeling the invisible touch of Momus as he leaned into a strike or stepped nimbly through a block, pushing, _forcing._

_He’s faster, taller and stronger. Abuse your reach, keep your distance, make him adjust to your beat._

Izuku barely noted the ruined church warping. Long rotted floorboards morphed into gleaming lacquered panels that seemed to catch and distort the blue light. The chairs and seats were pushed aside, shattering under his opponent’s missed blows as Izuku leapt away from them, spearpoint planting as he vaulted and kicked Arsene in the chest.

Izuku didn’t watch as the windows began to seal shut, each drop of blood spilled flickering, and blue and white sparks flying into a race through the connection between Signer and Contract.

As Izuku swung for another strike, it happened.

His legs gave out, his heart pounding as he stumbled.

_Too much power, much too soon._

Izuku careened forwards, feeling Momus’ energy slide from his form, leaving the sting and caress of pain in its wake.

**“Whoa there kid,”** With grace, Arsene stepped in and caught Izuku around his shoulders, heaving him up and back into a conveniently placed chair. **“Yeah, there we go… You did good, kid. Real good. Sit back, relax.”**

“What… what was the fight for.” Izuku managed to bite out the words, and Arsene smirked.

**“As the current Guardian of the Velvet Room, I can somewhat tell how your Persona works, in the vague, metaphysical sense. My wielder accessed my power by ripping away the trappings of his own self, revealing his core, his truth… you, on the other hand, are far more… physically connected.”** With a wave of his hand, he shifted the chair and let Izuku see that the cathedral was… repaired. There were still cracks, and the windows were still shattered wrecks, but the damages to the floor and desk were fixed, looking new. **“Your connection is in the flesh, in the Blood and Bone. In Sacrifice.”** Arsene grinned. **“So I let you sacrifice to the Room. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Desire. Thought. Action. All these and more, dripping from your wounds, soaking through your attacks and movements. You grew stronger, your sense of self adapting to the situation. And when you drained yourself, you could sit and catch your breath here, in the safety of the room.”**

Izuku was… seeing the situation now. Or at least part of it.

Maybe that was the exhaustion talking though.

“So… what now?”

**“Now? Now I patch you up, clean your clothes, and kick you out of here. Go home for a day. Get to school, rest. Whatever. A Velvet Butterfly will inform you when I’ve gotten enough order put into place that I can give you more information.”** Arsene stood, brushing his clothes off and holding out a hand. Izuku reached out to grasp it and was heaved up when he noticed the spear in his grasp had vanished, leaving only a rusted and ink-stained charm bracelet around his wrist.

“Wait, what time is it?”

**“Fuck if I know, kid. Time flows strangely around here. Don’t worry, though. I doubt you’ll be too late.”** Reaching out, Arsene poked Izuku in the cheek. **“I suck at this but… _Diarama.”_**

Izuku shivered as green sparks raced across him, knitting his skin closed where cuts were and sealing shut his clothes where they had been ripped. He blinked when even his sore muscles felt the relief, slight as it was.

“Wha-”

**“Boom! Healing magic. Now, get out. I have paperwork and intense metaphysical breakdowns to process.”** Grinning, Arsene shifted Izuku to- was that door always that close-

And then he was punted through the suddenly open grand doors, landing with a pained grunt on his own bed.

“...Ow.”

He blinked, eyes finding a clock before widening at the time.

“OH SHIT, I MISSED SCHOOL.”


End file.
